


Cat-astrophe

by stevierosebudds (vulcantastic)



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Cats, David hates animals, Fluff, M/M, Post-Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23517577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulcantastic/pseuds/stevierosebudds
Summary: Patrick raised his hands in what looked like a pathetic attempt to calm David’s rapidly rising panic. “It’s just for a week, David,” he said in his annoyingly calm voice, “No commitments. Miguel even gave us a few cans of food too, as a thank-you.” He pouted a bit, which absolutely would not work on David right now, thank you very much.Or, Patrick brings a foster cat home.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 18
Kudos: 144





	Cat-astrophe

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first foray into fic in just about 2 years, and my first ever foray into Schitt's Creek fandom. During quarantine I've managed to binge watch the entire show, and I wanted to post this at the literal eleventh hour to celebrate the finale airing tomorrow (!!!!!!!!). I hope you enjoy.
> 
> I adopted a cat two years ago and it was the best decision I could have made. Adopt, don't shop!

David Rose popped the first bite of a blueberry waffle into his mouth, moaning involuntarily. Thank God he was alone to enjoy his breakfast in borderline orgasmic bliss.

Breakfast was more like lunch, though, as he’d been running late to open the store this morning and hadn’t the time to eat. This resulted in a hanger of epic proportions that led his ever-patient husband Patrick to demand he go home and take a lunch break. Meanwhile, Patrick would head down to the vendor they were supposed to meet that day, Jodi Arles, who made her own saltwater taffy.

Normally David would be remiss to bail on a tasting opportunity, but candy wasn’t going to cut it today. He added a drizzle more syrup to the waffles before diving in again. He was no cook, but he could defrost an Eggo with the best of them. With the added fresh blueberries and Vermont-sourced maple syrup, and it was practically _gourmet._

Just as he was finishing off the last delightfully gooey piece, his reprieve was interrupted by the sound of jingling keys, followed by the light creak of the front door and the ringing call of, “Hey, honey!”

David simultaneously cringed and felt his face flush at the term of endearment. Still something he was getting used to. Patrick strode into the kitchen, standing behind David’s chair and pressing a kiss atop his head. “Guess what?”

“Ooh. Um.” David turned in his seat to face his husband. “Did we reel in Jodi?”

“It’s looking promising! She’ll call us this week,” Patrick replied hastily, stepping back a bit toward the front of the house again and crossing his arms over his chest.

David stood to mirror him, picking up his cup of espresso. It was clear Patrick wanted to talk about something else entirely. Looking beyond him and the open-concept living room, he saw the front door was still slightly ajar.

He quirked an eyebrow in curiosity as Patrick continued, “But actually it’s—okay, I’ll make this quick.” David could practically feel the hum of excitement just under the surface of Patrick’s eager expression. “You know how Miguel took over Ted’s vet clinic a few months back?”

David took a dainty sip of espresso. “Uh-huh.”

“Well, he’s doing renovations. And the staff there is so small that there weren’t enough of them to foster all the animals up for adoption while the construction crew is in there.”

“Sad,” David replied, very aware that he did not sound sad at all.

“And well, I was walking by after talking to Jodi—by the way, that taffy? _Delicious_ —”

“Hi, um.” David waved his free hand in front of Patrick’s face. “Just wondering, do you actually know what ‘making something quick’ means?”

Patrick narrowed his eyes, and David resisted the temptation to close the space between them and kiss him right between his furrowed brows. “ _Anyway_ , I saw a sign outside the clinic asking for foster help. So, you know, I just went inside, I mean, just to check it out …”

In an instant, David felt his comfortably full stomach drop. “Patrick,” he said, not bothering to keep his voice from shaking.

“And there was this one little gal left …” Patrick cleared his throat awkwardly. “A cat.”

“ _No.”_ David lifted a hand to his mouth.

Patrick raised his hands in what looked like a pathetic attempt to calm David’s rapidly rising panic. “It’s just for a week, David,” he said in his annoyingly calm voice, “No commitments. Miguel even gave us a few cans of food too, as a thank-you. And I'm only a little allergic. _Barely_.” He pouted a bit, which absolutely _would not work_ on David right now, thank you very much. “I just couldn’t leave her in there. And she’s so sweet. Hang on, I’ll go get her.”

Still covering his mouth, David muttered, “Oh, okay, _you’ll go get the cat_ ,” as Patrick half-jogged out of the kitchen, past the couch, and out the door.

Muffled sounds started happening outside. A car door slamming shut. Patrick cooing, “Here you go, little lady,” which actively made David want to regurgitate everything he’d just consumed. He placed his cup on the table with a trembling hand, took a deep breath, and walked over to the front of the house.

Patrick was shuffling in, holding a soft mesh carrier in his right hand as he shut the door behind him. He gently placed it on the ground, unzipping the front as David looked on in horror. “Comeon out, sweetie! You’re okay!”

After about a five-second delay, a mangy-looking tabby poked its head out of the carrier. Watery yellow-green eyes and uneven clumps of hair greeted David, and oh, my God, was it _missing_ whiskers?

The orange-white feline slowly made its way out into the open. David leapt back in disgust, watching in awe as it made itself right at home, hopping on the living room couch and gazing between the two of them. Even its _posture_ was bad, all hunched and neck-forward.

“Patrick.” David breathed out his partner’s name in a sigh, not tearing his gaze from the thing. “It looks like a fucking mop you’d use to clean a public bathroom. With legs.”

Patrick was very clearly fighting a laugh, that fucker, as he walked over to the couch and _sat next_ to the creature. “Oh, come on,” he said, running a hand down the cat’s uneven back, “Don’t you miss having something big-eyed and vaguely helpless around since Alexis left? Kit-Kat clearly solves for that, minus all the talking.”

David ran both his hands down his face. “So we’ve _named_ it.”

“ _Her_. And you know they’re my favorite kind of chocolate. Plus, gotta love a _Cabaret_ callback.”

David shook his head incredulously. “Why would you name a living thing after something you like to eat? Stevie once told me she grew up with a dog named Brownie and it just made me fucking _hungry_.”

Patrick shrugged. “Everything makes you hungry, David.”

“‘Kay, you’re not wrong. But you _are_ wrong about introducing a _cat_ into our new home, Patrick. It’ll tear everything apart! It’ll throw up hair in the shape of tiny poops!”

“The tiny poops will be _so_ cute, though,” Patrick squealed, stroking the top of the cat’s matted head as David rolled his eyes. “And speaking of Stevie, she’ll be coming by to cat-sit while we’re at the store today. Just so Kit-Kat’s not alone. Miguel guesses she’s around 5 years old, so she’s not a kitten or anything, but still, we can’t just leave her on her lonesome her first day here …”

“Mhm. God forbid.”

“And since we’re closed tomorrow, we’ll have all day to hang out with her.”

David nodded resolutely. “With Stevie.”

“No, David.” Patrick gestured to the ball of fur beside him, which let out a tiny meow. “With the cat.”

Throwing his hands up, David pivoted on his heel toward the bedroom to grab his shoes. “Ugh! I’m going to the store!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Patrick grin and per down at the tabby, saying, “I think that went really great.”

* * *

**Stevie Budd [Received 2:30 pm]**  
Did you know only 20% of tabby cats are female?

**[Sent 2:33 pm]**  
hi, um, i’m gonna need you to dispose of the thing. just like, pretend it ran away

**Stevie Budd [Received 2:33 pm]**  
That’s a no from me.

**[Sent 2:40pm]**  
what is it doing. is it eating my wall art

**Stevie Budd [Received 2:47pm]**  
How would she get to your wall art, David? Walk me through that.

**[Sent 3:01pm]**  
my ex-best friend in london had a cat in his flat and i saw it climb a wall once

**Stevie Budd [Received 3:16pm]**  
Right now she’s just sitting here next to me giving herself a bath.

**[Sent 3:17pm]**  
ew!!!!!!!!! next thing you know it’ll be in heat all over the granite countertops and like, infecting our egyptian cotton sheets

**Stevie Budd [Received 3:22pm]**  
Relax. She’s fixed and perfectly healthy.

**[Sent 3:23pm]**  
again, ew.

**Stevie Budd [Received 3:27pm]**  
She’s just a little haggard. We’ve all had those days. Plus I think what Patrick did was really cute. You’ll be fine. It’s a week.

**[Sent 3:29pm]**  
i thought ‘haggard’ was your aesthetic

**Stevie Budd [Received 3:30pm]**  
I’m putting you on Do Not Disturb now.

**[Sent 3:31pm]**  
omg, do you think this is patrick’s subtle way of telling me he actually does want kids?

**[Sent 3:33pm]**  
he’s going to divorce me and run off with his hairy pseudo-child, stevie

**[Sent 3:35pm]**  
stevie!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**[Sent 3:41pm]**  
btw don’t touch my artisan brioche on the counter. i’ll know if you did.

* * *

An evening of red wine and _Bridget Jones’ Diary_ quelled David’s nerves a bit. Even though the cat made an annoying scratchy sound in the (shudder) litter box during the most romantic parts. And even though Patrick paused the movie halfway through to feed the thing.

Now, Patrick was trailing kisses down the side of David’s neck while David ran his fingers through Patrick’s tousled hair, and things were certainly looking up.

Patrick slowly eased David back onto the bed, muttering, “God, you’re gorgeous,” utilizing his uncanny ability to make David blush with just a few words.

He decided not to let him say any more, though, as he crashed his lips against Patrick’s, letting his eyes flutter closed and falling into the moment. Slowly, he began the deft process of unbuttoning Patrick’s dress shirt as he teasingly lifted his hips into Patrick’s. He might not be great with words, but he prided himself on showing his appreciation for Patrick in other ways.

David was just beginning to work on Patrick’s jeans when something in his peripheral vision caught his attention. “Oh, my god. Patrick.”

“Mm, you like that?” Patrick whispered, biting David’s earlobe just a bit, which would normally drive David crazy—but not right now.

“Patrick!” David swatted at Patrick’s chest, forcing him to pull away. “It’s staring at us. Look.”

He watched Patrick followed his wide-eyed gaze to the doorway, in which sat the tabby, blinking in disturbing silence and watching them intently.

This had to be it. This had to be the final straw, the moment when Patrick would realize this was a big mistake. David waited anxiously for his partner to decide to throw in the metaphorical towel and escort the thing off to Miguel’s.

But Patrick just laughed. “Oh, man. No peeking for you, kitty.”

David flopped onto the bed with a drawn-out huff as Patrick shooed the cat away and shut their door. He then flopped back onto the bed, crawling up to David and straddling his hips.

“So. Where were we?”

David lifted a finger. “Nope. Moment ruined.”

Patrick stared pleadingly, running his hands down David’s bare chest. “David, _come on_ —”

But he was already squirming out from under Patrick’s grip to get to the bathroom. “Ru-ined.” 

Then he shut the bathroom door behind him.

(And then he opened it and shut it again because he didn’t deem the first try loud enough.)

* * *

“So you just take the measuring cup and fill it up with the dry food, like this. And here’s her bowl—”

“Friendly reminder.” David twirled one of the elaborate tassels adorning either side of his shirt, watching Patrick fiddle about in the kitchen. “I didn’t ask for this, so I’m not participating in _the feeding_.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to this evening while I’m at baseball practice,” replied Patrick, picking up his Adidas bag. “She’s very low-maintenance, you know that. You’ll be fine.”

Patrick was long out the door by the time David finally addressed the cat, who had been sitting patiently on a chair at the kitchen table, staring.

David scrunched up his nose. “What are you looking at?”

It meowed. It was a loud sound, not one David had heard before.

“Okay, we‘re not doing that,” David replied, and as he turned on his heel he heard the noise again. A pathetic _mrrrrrowwwlllll_. 

“Oh, my god!” He whirled around once more. “What do you want? Patrick said not to feed you until 7!”

But the tabby kept wailing. Panicking, David tried to examine it from a respectable distance, figuring it might be injured. But the cat was no more pathetic-looking than normal. 

An idea occurred to him then. A particularly abhorrent idea. But he’d noticed how affectionate Patrick always was with the cat, and how enthusiastically it responded. Maybe he was a little jealous of that, but that wasn’t the point.

_Ah, fuck._

Gingerly, he reached out a hand and lightly tapped the top of the cat’s head a few times. Admittedly, the fur was very soft. And obnoxiously long, and definitely all over the living room rug. Almost instantly, the crying stopped, and the tabby hopped off the chair and began strutting toward the kitchen doorway.

“You just wanted attention,” David muttered, incredulous. Then he found himself shrugging. “I can relate.”

On the way out, the thing proceeded to rub against David’s legs, encircling him and purring loudly.

David sighed. “Fucking great. I didn’t need these black pants anyway.”

* * *

“So,” David straightened Patrick’s tie, smoothed his lapels, ran his hands down his husband’s arms. “You brought home a cat the week of a business convention. That makes sense.”

Patrick sighed. “Look, I forgot about it. I won’t be long; I’ll be back on Friday.”

“And just what am I supposed to do with … this while you’re gone? You’re the one who plays with it.”

Patrick bent down so he was on-level with the cat. “Bye, Kit-Kat! I’ll miss you!” He stroked its head affectionately.

David crossed his arms in front of his chest and rolled his eyes. “Don’t miss it too much. We’re taking it back Saturday.”

Patrick stood back up and pressed his lips together, put his hands on his hips, and said quietly, “Yeah, I know.” He leaned forward and kissed David on the cheek, picking up his suitcase. “I”ll see you in two days. Play nice.”

“Uh-huh.”

David went to the store that day, like usual. He came home for lunch, though Twyla’s cafe was the more appealing option, in a moment of true self-sacrifice to check on the thing. It hadn’t moved from its spot on the couch. Riveting.

He had to admit the cat didn’t really cause much trouble. It was curious, explored the house a lot, but hadn’t ripped anything to shreds—yet. And any fur it shed was usually vacuumed up by Patrick in a heartbeat, lest he face David’s wrath.

That night, he was settled in bed, having chosen to turn in early—his usual habit when Patrick wasn’t around to entertain him—when that awful _mrrrowwlllll_ filled the room. The cat was staring at him from its apparent favorite spot in the bedroom doorway.

“Ugh, _what_?” David whined, exasperated. “I’m not touching your fucking poop box, if that’s what you’re thinking. My bleeding-heart husband cleaned it before he left.”

The animal continued to gaze at him expectantly. David stared back. This, and the whining, continued for about thirty seconds until he threw his arms up and screeched, “FINE!”

Begrudgingly, he patted Patrick’s side of the bed, granting permission he never in any version of reality thought he’d give as the cat hopped up next to him. 

Glaring, David said in a very serious tone, “Above the covers only. Got it?”

The cat was already curling up beside him, and David sighed, switching off the light on the bedside table.

“…And don’t look at me. You’re weird.”

* * *

David flopped down on the couch, Julie Andrews’ autobiography loose in his right hand. Patrick was due to be home this evening, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t missed the hell out of him. 

He’d had a long day at the store—the usual influx of Friday customers coming in for gifts or self-indulgent items on pay day. It was nice to finally relax. He picked up the book, delving into Dame Julie’s perspective on her illustrious stage career.

_Mrrrrowwwllll._

David made a show of slamming the book shut, shooting daggers at the creature sitting _on top of the coffee table_ , Jesus Christ.

The sad cat looked extra sad today. David realized this was the longest it had been here without Patrick to play with and—ugh, cuddle—since it had arrived.

He guessed he understood that.

“Do you miss him, too?” he found himself asking.

As if in answer, the cat jumped from the coffee table right on top of David, who nearly dropped his book in surprise.

“Ow!” he exclaimed as he cat nestled into David’s chest, humming. “Ugh. Stop. Ew.”

Instead, the tabby trilled happily, resting her head in the crook of David’s neck. “ _Where_ is your sense of personal space?”

_Mrrrrowwwllll._

“Fine.” He placed one hand behind his head and held up the book with the other. “If you interrupt me while I’m reading I’ll skin you.”

The cat replied with a low purr, which David hoped to God was an acknowledgement of his very real threat.

* * *

He opened his eyes hours later to find Patrick perched on the arm of the couch, looking at him, expression soft. A slow smile crept across his husband’s face upon seeing David was awake, and he knelt down in front of the couch to close the space between them with a languid kiss.

“Mmm,” sighed David in between more kisses, “Welcome back.”

“Hi.” Patrick pulled back a bit, just enough that David could see the amusement dancing in his husband’s eyes. It was then he recalled the warm weight on his chest, looking down to discover the tabby sleeping on top of him. His book was strewn on the floor, long abandoned. 

David felt his cheeks burn as Patrick quipped, “Made a friend, I see?”

“Okay, so. This isn’t a big deal.” David curled his legs in to make room for Patrick to sit on the couch beside him, which he did. “I missed you. And she was just like, here already. On the couch. So…”

“Right.”

Silence.

“Shut up, Patrick.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

A few more beats of quiet went by, interrupted only by the cat’s humming purrs.

Finally, David mumbled, “So first, for the record, you _didn’t_ ask me before you did this, so I’m going to assume I don’t have to ask before I bring home another statement piece for our living room.”

“Sure.”

“Second,” and this was almost painful to say, but David bit it out through clenched teeth nonetheless. “Kit-Kat is a stupid name. We’re going with Emma. She’s the definition of un-classy but we can at least give her an Austen-inspired name if she’s going to stay here.”

He tried not to react to the doe-eyed excitement in Patrick’s expression. Like a kid who's just found out he's going to Disneyland. “She’s…she’s going to stay here?”

David sighed. “Ugh, whatever. You clearly love her, which is only mildly threatening to me.” He cupped the side of Patrick’s face with his hand, and Patrick leaned into the touch. “And I tolerate her. So.”

“Oh my god.” Patrick placed a hand over David’s, squeezing, before practically leaping up and digging into his pocket to grab his phone, “I’m gonna call Dr. Miguel, see if we can get the paperwork signed.”

He lifted the phone to his ear as the other line rang and all but screeched, “Kit-Kat, welcome home!”

“Emma,” David corrected.

He leaned over, pressing a light kiss to David’s forehead. “Yes, of course. Emma it is—hi, Miguel? It’s Patrick Brewer …”

Emma looked up at David, eyes big. David looked down at Emma and definitely did not smile, not even a little.


End file.
